Insanity
by logolepsy
Summary: Sarah Byrnes' thoughts before admitting herself into the hospital.


_**A glimpse into Sarah Byrnes' point of view leading up to admitting herself into the hospital and her first visitors at the hospital.**_

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Ugly. Hideous. Repulsive. The chant continues on everywhere I go. The kids at school sometimes say it directly to my face , and others whisper it silently with their inquisitive looks that they think are kept so locked away from my sight. Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. What an utterly stupid thing to teach to kids. Maybe the names won't hurt you right away, but when you're locked in your room crying, the names will hurt. The names won't wear you down right away but when you can still hear it, even when no one is talking, it's like a million little pin pricks.

I stare into the mirror today, like every morning, and examine my face. My scarred hands drift over my cheeks with a touch as light as a dove's wings. I squint at the image in front of me just to make sure that it is really me. And, as usual, it is me. Eric told me once the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. I'd used the statement against him later when he left to swim practice for the third time that week. I was bitter, I'll admit it, but he protested against what I'd said. I shook my head sadly at his kindness and exclaimed "You swim laps for hours and hope to have a better time. That's insanity."

I walked away and ignored his yells "It's not insanity! I do get better times, Sarah Byrnes!" So maybe it was a pitiful argument and Eric wasn't insane. But what if I was insane? Every morning my hands flew to my face as naturally as my eyes opening when I woke up. I venture over to the mirror and complete my examination. Yup, the scars are still there. My father truly did burn me. Can it be classified as insanity if my act of pointless vanity is only done to confirm to myself that my past isn't a lie? Every day I wake up and hope that it's all dream and that I'm living someone else's life.

"SARAH! GET DOWN HERE!" shouts my father from downstairs. I take one last longing look in the mirror and obediently obey his wishes. I add a little thud to my quiet footsteps down the stairs so that my father will know I'm coming. If he doesn't believe I'm coming immediately then things get difficult. The other day he tried to slap me across the face when I wasn't home early enough to make dinner. I'd dodged his hasty gesture but his hand still managed to snap against the bare skin of my arm. That's when I knew things were getting bad again. That's why today I had to do something before it escalated too far.

I bounded down the last step and marched into the dining room. From memory, I knew if I peered down the hallway I would see the wooden stove that my father so insensitively burned me on. I turned my gaze to the figure in front of me. My father stood in his plaid pyjamas with a beer bottle in hand but that didn't make him any less formidable. He glared at me darkly, and I shifted my eyes down to my feet. He'd been drinking again and suddenly the cold stone in my gut was back again. I felt my stomach sink. I did everything I could not to cower in fear like a small animal being confronted by a predator as he took a staggered step towards me. He wasn't completely drunk, yet, but I'd heard him get out of bed at five in the morning mumbling swears under his breath. He'd creaked open the door to my room minutes later. I had bunched myself up under the covers and lay as still as a marble statue at one of those fancy museums. I was scared I would almost have a heart attack, with my heart thumping in my chest like a hummingbird's wings, but then he'd walked away. Half an hour later the click of the fridge opening sounded from downstairs and the cap of a bottle was twisted off and carelessly thrown to the ground.

Back in reality, my father's warm, alcoholic breath drifted along my forehead. "Don't be getting in any trouble today, kid." I nodded my head up and down in a robotic motion and scurried along to the kitchen to grab a measly apple for breakfast. Apple in hand, I clutched the strap of my bag like a lifeline and darted out the door. I sprinted until my breath came in haggard gasps. Feeling the effects of vigilantly staying up late, I collapsed down onto the barrier on the side of road.

The mustard yellow bus arrived right on time ready to transport me to school with the rest of the students. I stepped on and felt judging looks sent my way. Why did everyone still have to stare? It wasn't like it was big news or something. I'd been this way for years. Although it was almost worse if they ignored me like that jerk, Mark Brittain. He and the rest of his cronies could preach about everyone being loved in God's eyes yet they never have uttered so much as a syllable to me. Eric hated his histrionic, religious antics too but I wasn't going to be the one to get him started on the subject. He could rant to one of his swim buddies if he wanted. I parked myself on one of the waxy, grey seats and sent out a glare to the people surrounding me. No one could see past my walls; no one ever did. Maybe it would've been for the better if they did. It was too late for that now. A couple of nights ago I'd locked myself in my room to escape my father's intoxicated delusions and had formulated a plan. Today was the day to put the plan into effect and have a chance to recover, or at least take a break, from my father.

The bus screeched to the stop on the entryway in front of school and loud bunches of students swarmed off like honey bees. I followed silently behind until I was out of the confines of the bus and then shouldered my way through the crowd. Clatters of noise traveled to my ears on the way to class. I pushed the door open fiercely and took my seat. I was about five minutes early to class and I was the only one inhabiting the room. This was good. I needed time to mentally prepare myself.

Eventually the rest of the American Government class arrived and our teacher began reviewing the end of the chapter questions. I fidgeted uneasily eleven minute before class ended. This was my chance and I had to seize it. I packed up my books in a neat pile, with the exception of my textbook that lay open, and cleared out my mind. Time drifted by as I put myself into a mute state. Only when class ended did anyone realize something was up.

"Sarah Byrnes? You coming?" Eric asked, being the first to notice my mental absence. I gave no indication of a reply except for my stony silence. Moments passed as he inspected me and he exclaimed, "Sarah Byrnes? This ain't funny. Come on! What are you doing?" Eric flapped his hands in front of my face like a bird. A look of panic arose on his features. For a second I felt guilty but I reassured myself with the fact that one day I would tell him the reasons behind my silence. Our teacher drifted over and gazed at me curiously. "Ms. Byrnes class has ended," he snapped impatiently and, after seeing no response, continued, "Sarah? Please move if you can hear me." I didn't move a muscle.

The rest flew by in a blurry haze. Teachers drifted in and out and eventually an ambulance arrived. The paramedics checked to see if I was having any sort of medical problems that concerned them immediately but to no avail did they find anything. After much ado I was shipped off to the hospital and placed in the psych ward. Lucky me. Except, unlike most people, I wasn't intending to be sarcastic; this was the honest truth.

I'd been admitted to the Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Unit of the Sacred Heart Hospital for just under a week now when my first visitor arrived. Visitors were restricted before; I'd heard snippets of chatter saying that they wanted no distractions for a five day period in order to cure my quietness. Little did they know that this disease was self-inflicted.

Last night I lay on my bed, gazing up at the drab hospital ceiling, and wished upon the stars I couldn't see that my father would not drop in to see me. Alas, the odds were never in my favour and he was my first visitor.

He sauntered through the halls like he owned the place but only I noticed the fidgety way his eyes darted around in dangerous patterns. _He can't try anything here Sarah _I reassured myself. _He can't hurt you now. Not with all the nurses hovering about. _I glared straight ahead and offered no signs of inhibition.

My father didn't even bother to sit down next to me on the couch. Instead he crouched down, his face close to mine, and coolly asked "You okay Sarah? Are they treating right?" Shivers chilled my spine as if ice cubes had been dropped down the back of my shirt. I knew the lines were entirely thought out because we were both all too aware of the surrounding nurses and counselors. He continued in a steady tone, "Sarah. You best be feeling better soon. I miss you." I didn't miss the way he said the words as if they were lines on a script or the callous, remorseless look in his dark eyes.

He lingered for a few seconds and gazed at me with the fiery intensity of a wildfire. He clicked his tongue in his mouth and muttered "Very well." He vanished out of the room leaving only a door swinging shut behind him and the scent of dissatisfaction.

A nurse appeared behind me, rested their hand on my shoulder, and led me to a series of tables. A hearty bowl of chilli was positioned in front of me with a spoon and napkin arranged to its left. "Okay Sarah. Take the spoon and eat the chilli." I would've had to fight the impulse to scoff mockingly or roll my eyes at her simplistic orders but the encounter with my father lay produce fresh in my mind. Like a dog, I obediently obeyed and picked up the spoon.

Content that I was eating, the nurse glided over to another patient and brought them over to the table. The nurse re-explained their directions to the boy, Brad, and left. I took this as a chance to study everyone around me. Brad, one of the few I knew by name, had to be about seventeen with cropped, red hair and a vast array of freckles. It looked as if someone had splattered them on with orange paint. He stared beyond me foggily and gave an overall first impression of numbness. His gaze didn't once flicker to me as he shoveled down his chilli.

I brought the spoon to my lips taking a tender bite and curiously examined the girls to my left. With their shiny hair and heart-shaped faces they normally would have been the type of girls that guys fall in love at first sight with. There was a chink in them though; or at second thought maybe a gaping fissure. Their skin was stretched like elastic across their bones and their faces contained not even a pinch of life. One of them, a dark-haired girl, named Kelsey, had lightened up for a moment when she'd roughly rushed past me a day ago. She thought she'd almost knocked me over but really she was the one trying not to topple over. She had apologized anyways and offered a quick smile that I believe was sent to reassure me. Kelsey had been in here for two weeks now and thought it was her duty to welcome any newcomers.

Diagonal to them, a group of kids ranging from age twelve to sixteen were huddled up in the corner. They stuck together like sap and were branches that supported each other. In my short time here I'd noticed that some people found support in others. It might have been good for me to do that too but I'd always found it easier to support myself. From afar I could see red lines of varying thicknesses littering one boy's arms and any other visible skin. He was one of the youngest. It was quite sad actually.

From my observations I could see that everyone here had their own story. If the old quote "You know my name, not my story." rang a bell for me it would've been an orchestra with everyone in here.

The clatter of voices ceased as lunch came to an end, and I followed the crowd back to our main area. I reclaimed my spot on one of the couches and pondered recent events. I really was going through with this. And my dad...he couldn't hurt me now. Not as long as I kept my facade up. Although smiling on the outside would've been a giveaway I was grinning as bright as a Christmas tree on the inside.

The double doors open like a jaw and my newly-appointed counselor, Laurel, heads my way. Her figure obscures my view of the door, and I instantly panic. I didn't expect any more visitors, at least not today, but a pang struck in my heart when the counselor carefully told me I had a visitor. Was it my dad again? Much to my relief I saw that Eric was the one being led in. _Good old Mobe_ I mused, _he really was a great friend. I should really tell him that sometime. I don't think he knows how much he means to me. How he's kept me going all these years. _

His eyes wandered over the puffy, gaudy couch I was seated upon and then to my face. My glazed over look unnerved him a bit from what I could see. It occurred to me that this was the first time Eric had seen me in any state of weakness.

As Eric makes his way over, he scrutinizes the surroundings and proceeds to survey me gain with a concerned look. "Hi," he greets to no avail. I offer no welcome in return. He hesitantly touches my forearm in what I think is meant to be a comforting gesture. It is. The first familiarity in a week calms me into a tranquil state.

I keep my eyes concentrated on a spot about a few inches from the tip of my nose. Laurel approaches timely and says, "You must be Eric." It is not a question, more of a statement really.

Eric nods and pipes up, "Is she going to be okay?"

Laurel gathers her thoughts and replies, "I'm Laurel, Sarah's counselor," she holds out her hand and continues, "I don't know, to tell the truth. She hasn't responded too much, though her doctor says she has all the proper physical reactions."

This was news to me. So they weren't going to make me leave anytime soon but they had found a small crack in my charade. Eric addresses Laurel again, "What should I say to her? I mean, can she understand me?"

She gives a nonchalant shrug and reveals, "I don't know. Assume she can. Talk to her like you would if she were answering. Make things as normal as possible."

Normal. That was something I'd lost in the spell of time long ago. I can't remember what normal feels like yet it is something everyone constantly strives for. I'll never understand people.

A nurse grasps my hand with her own sweaty palms and informs me, "Sarah? Sarah. You have visitor."

That really ticks me off. It's probably the hundredth time today that someone has called me just Sarah instead of Sarah Byrnes. The name sounds foreign and irritates me a bloody lot.

As if reading my mind Eric notifies her, "If you want things to be normal you have to call her by her whole name."

"What?"

"You have to call her by her whole name. Sarah Byrnes. She only answers to Sarah Byrnes," Eric enlightens. The nurse pauses and shoots him a bewildered look as if to ask him if he should be the one in here.

"When we were in junior high, Sarah Byrnes got sick of every new Einstein at school thinking he was the only genius in the world to figure out this great pun about her last name and her condition. She hated waiting for them to get it, so she made everyone call her Sarah Byrnes. If you just call her Sarah, she won't answer," Eric rationalizes.

Laurel gives a swift shake of her head and answers, "I'll tell the others. That's important. Is there anything else?"

"I don't think so."

"Well I'll leave you two alone. Just talk with her about things that might jar her." Laurel says and turns pointedly on the tip of her heels.

Eric turns his attention back to me and asks, "Remember _Crispy Pork Rinds_?" If Eric expected a reply he must have been quite thicker than I thought because it was going to take a whole lot more than that to wake me from this sort of coma.

Eric frowns slightly at the lack of response but rests his hand on top of mine anyways. He mimics me and stares out into empty air. I have a feeling he's reminiscing about the past, and I can't blame him for it. Things were so much simpler then.

Ten minutes tick away on the clock and Eric tries to make some small talk. He blathers on about how good he's doing on the swim team this year, his supposedly amazing Contemporary American Thought class, and his friend Steve Ellerby. Once those topics are run dry he struggles to find a new one. He stumbles over his words about Jody who Eric is in love with. It's surreal to hear him talking about this because he never once mentioned girls or his love life to me. Desperate times call for desperate measures I guess. I take this is a sign of trust and it only further proves my point when Eric confesses how much he misses me. "Sarah Byrnes? I still don't know if you can hear me but I'm going to tell you this anyways. I'm worried about you, I really am. You're the strongest person I know. So, why now? What was it that got you here?"

Eric finished his speech and the desperation on his face faded to a discouraging sigh. He patted my arm one last time before standing up and leaving. I watched him until the double doors of the hospital swung shut like a swing.

I felt kind of...empty now. And a bit lost, too. I was alone again and it was vital that I kept my act up.

At this point I could tell that I was in too deep. I was drowning an ocean that only knew the sound of nothing as its waves crashed. I was the only fish in the sea at the moment. Should I tell one of the nurses? Uugh no I'd be sent straight back to my dad no matter what I said. One of the other patients? No again. I didn't know if they could be trusted and it would be too much of a burden to lay my problems on top of theirs. Eric? Hmm...possibly. How would he react? I could tell him the next time he visits but still it was risky. Even if I threatened him he would do anything to keep me safe (the idiot tried to stay fat for me for god's sake). He wouldn't understand that we couldn't just go blurting out my entire life story to the cops. So who was I left with? Myself, yet again. Except this time I couldn't climb this mountain on my own.

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**I put a lot of thought into this so I hope everyone likes it :) I orginally wrote it for school because we were reading SFFSB in class. I've read some of Chris Crutcher's other books (Deadline, Period 8) and I would definetely recommend them. I wrote a second oneshot that deals with Sarah, Eric, Ellerby, Mark, and Jody in the future. It's not as good as this one and more comedic but if you would like me to post it then tell me in a review!**


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